Suture Self
by englishtutor
Summary: In which newly wed John learns an important lesson about his wife.


He'd managed to slip into the bedroom, strip, and shower, and his wife—notorious for sleeping like dead thing—never even twitched a muscle. But as he eased himself into bed, she hummed in her sleep, turned over, and settled herself against him. He wasn't sure if it was reflex or if she was slowly waking up; he just knew that the sweet weight of her head on his shoulder was worth coming home for.

"Bad guys dispatched?" Mary murmured into his chest.

"Being processed as we speak," John replied with some satisfaction. He knew he sounded insufferably pleased with himself, but tonight had been the fruitful result of weeks of hard work. Sherlock had done all the deductions, of course, but John had done most of the leg work involved in gathering the evidence that would ensure a conviction. "We took a lot of drugs off the market tonight, as well."

He could feel her smile against his shoulder. "Good work, Captain." She wrapped an arm around his waist and squeezed.

He leaned over to kiss her. "How was your day, then?"

"Deadly dull," she sighed. "I'm glad you're home." Then she lifted her head and sniffed. John froze.

"You're bleeding!" Mary exclaimed.

"Just a bit," he shrugged. "It's nothing."

But she knew what "nothing" meant. "Did you go to A & E?" she demanded.

"No need. Took care of it myself."

She sat up straighter. "You SUTURED yourself?"

This put John a bit on the defensive. "Who says I needed sutures?" he said as mildly as he could.

He could feel her eyes on him in the dark, scrutinizing him. John Watson had not married a fool. "You did, didn't you? You stitched yourself up."

Most of the time, John felt as if he had known Mary forever. They were perfectly in sync, thought alike more times than not. They often finished each other's sentences. But now he was very aware that they had not actually known each other for very long at all. There were still quite a few experiences they had not yet had together. Lestrade had said that Mary had shown incredible presence of mind and composure when John had been stabbed, back when they had first become engaged. But John had never come home to her injured before, and he wondered now if her calm demeanor extended to situations like this. He considered his answer carefully.

"Wouldn't be the first time," he said lightly, and waited. What would it be? Anger? Worry? Tears?

Mary snorted with unladylike laughter. "My lovely idiot. Why didn't you just come home and let me do it?"

He smiled in relief. "I would have, if he'd gotten me someplace I couldn't reach."

Leaning back to turn on the bedside lamp, Mary demanded cheerfully, "Let me see!"

Obligingly, he twitched back the blanket to show her the stitches in his thigh. "Is this wifely concern, or medical curiosity?" he inquired.

"Why can't it be both?" She examined his sutures closely, humming to herself softly. "Nice work, Doctor," she said at last. "Any other injuries I should know about?"

He shook his head. "Just some minor cuts and bruises. No big deal."

"Mind if I decide that for myself?"

He sighed, hiding a grin. "If you feel it's absolutely necessary."

"I do, in fact," she returned pertly.

Satisfied that he was more or less intact, Mary finally turned off the light and snuggled up next to him again. Lifting her face for another kiss, she suddenly interrupted him with "How is Sherlock?"

"I sutured him, as well. He's fine."

"Is he here?"

"He's on the sofa, dead to the world."

Mary was quiet for a moment. "Perhaps I should go check on him," she suggested.

John's arm tightened around her, holding her to him. "He's fine. Looking after him is part of my job. Or don't you think I know what I'm doing?"

She chuckled. "Oh, I know full well that you know what you're doing," she assured him, chuckling.

"Well, then, shut up, woman, and let a man get some sleep!" he teased.

"Not likely!" she replied.

John had done a number of things that day of which he had a right to be proud. He and Sherlock had won a knife fight in which they were outnumbered two to one. They had saved a man's life and had gotten some dangerous criminals off the street. They had found the drug shipment they had been employed to discover and probably saved countless lives by getting it out of circulation. It had been a satisfying day. But John found that coming home was far and away the most satisfying thing he'd accomplished that day.

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Author's Note: My husband is a police officer and an EMT. This story is based loosely on something that happened to us early in our marriage. Of course, I'm not medically trained, so I couldn't have helped him if he'd needed it and I couldn't really tell how good a job he'd done in doctoring himself. But he's still alive, so I guess he did all right. J


End file.
